Kitabı oku: «The Mysterious Mr. Miller», sayfa 18
Chapter Thirty Eight
Tells the Truth
In the rich glow of the autumn evening we sat together for some time, our hearts too full of grief for words. The future of both of us was filled with blank despair. My presence there brought back to her all the sweet recollections of those long-past days when she was free, and when to save her father from ruin she had so nobly sacrificed her love.
Presently the whirr of the motor-car announced Mr Murray’s return, and rising we went into the house to greet him. He welcomed me, but none too warmly I noticed. Probably he did not approve of my calling upon Ella now that she was engaged to marry the man who had so firmly established himself in his confidence.
Nevertheless, he asked me to remain to dinner, which I did gladly. He was a slow-speaking gentlemanly man, dark-eyed and dark-bearded, whom I had always liked.
From him I learned that Ella’s marriage was to take place in the village church of Wichenford in the first week in October, and that the honeymoon was to be spent in St. Petersburg. His words cut me like a knife.
“Gordon-Wright is down at his country place just now,” he remarked an hour later, as we all three sat at table in the great old panelled dining-room with the wax candles burning in the antique Sheffield candelabra. “We go to town next week, and he meets us there. He’s a good fellow. Do you know him?”
“I met him quite casually once,” I replied, glancing across at my well-beloved who had now exchanged her white dress for a black lace dinner gown, in the corsage of which was a single red rose – her favourite flower.
Ah! as I looked at her my heart was aflame. I loved her better than my life. Alas! She could never now be mine – never.
I left early and drove back to Worcester through the pelting rain – with her rose that she had slipped into my hand at parting, a silent pledge that spoke volumes to me.
“Good-bye, dear heart!” she whispered. “We shall perhaps meet again in London.”
“Yes,” I said earnestly. “We must meet once again before your marriage. Promise me you will – promise?”
“I’ll try. But you know how very difficult it is to see you when I’m at Porchester Terrace. Aunt Henrietta is such an impossible person.”
“You must,” I whispered. And I would have clasped her to my heart and kissed her in adieu had not the statuesque man-servant stood by to hand me the mackintosh which Murray had lent me.
“Adieu!” she said again, and then touching her hand I mounted into the cart and went forth into the rain and darkness – into the night that was so like my own life.
After my return to Shepherd’s Bush ten weary days passed – each day bringing my love nearer that odious union. One morning I received an unexpected note from Lucie Miller, saying that she and her aunt were in London again, at the Hotel Russell, in order to see her late father’s lawyers.
I called and left a card, for they were out.
Next day, just as I rose from Mrs Gilbert’s luncheon table and was about to enjoy a pipe in Sammy’s den – he being away at the club – visitors were announced.
It was Lucie, flushed and agitated, and with her was Ella, who, the instant the door of the little sitting-room was closed, fell upon my neck, and without a word burst into a passion of tears.
“What does this mean?” I asked of Lucie, utterly taken aback.
“This will explain it.” And she drew out a green evening newspaper, one of those editions published at eleven o’clock in the morning. “Read for yourself,” she added, pointing to a bold headline.
I swiftly scanned the lines, and stood staring at them both.
What was printed there was utterly bewildering. I held my breath. Could it actually be true?
I cried aloud for joy, and pressing my love to my breast covered her pale sweet face with passionate kisses.
“Is this a fact?” I cried. “Is it really true?”
“Yes,” answered Lucie. “I have been to Half Moon Street myself and made inquiries. Mr Gordon-Wright, it appears, returned home late last night after supper at the Savoy. He must have met some friends afterwards, for the hall-porter says he did not return till nearly two o’clock, and then seemed dazed and incoherent in his speech. He frequently saw gentlemen like that, and therefore pretended to take no notice. At eight o’clock this morning, when his valet took him his early tea, he found him half-dressed doubled up on the bed quite dead. Death from poisoning, the doctor has declared. To us the truth is quite plain. He is another victim of Himes’ terrible revenge!”
“And you, my darling, are free – actually free!” I cried, again kissing my dear heart’s face and beside myself with an unexpected joy.
Himes was evidently keeping his vow to exterminate all Miller’s friends – for what reason, however, was still an enigma.
The situation now became utterly bewildering. In an instant I recognised the exact position. My well-beloved was not so enthusiastic as myself. She seemed terrified at the man’s terribly sudden end, and at the same time she held herself aloof from me. She held a secret, one which, as she had frankly told me, she would never divulge – not even to me. How could there be perfect love without perfect confidence? Again another difficulty was presented.
“I saw the report upon the posters in the streets, bought a paper, and learnt the truth,” explained Lucie. “I then took a cab at once to Porchester Terrace in search of Ella, and brought her straight here to you.”
“The fellow has got his deserts,” I said, in triumph. “He richly deserved such an ignominious end.”
“He supped with my father and myself at the Savoy last night, and drove home with us,” Ella said. “He left us about one o’clock, and promised to call and take me shopping in Bond Street at ten this morning, but never came.”
“And he will never trouble you more, darling,” I exclaimed, amazed that Himes should have acted with such daring so quickly after his terrible revenge upon Miller. It showed how unscrupulous and determined he was to carry out the threat that had escaped his lips. “You are mine at last – mine! mine!” I cried, pressing her again to me and covering her lips with kisses.
But she did not return my caresses. She only pushed me forcibly from her, saying huskily: —
“It is true that man is dead, Godfrey – that I have no further fear of him – that my secret is safe. But you must give me time to think, Godfrey.”
“Yes,” urged her friend. “You must allow her time. The news of the fellow’s sudden end has upset her. The release has been so sudden that she cannot yet realise it. Release has also come to me,” she added. “Ah! you do not know the truth, Mr Leaf – it is surely stranger than any fiction ever written.”
“And may I not know it?” I asked quickly. “Remember that you have taken me into your confidence up to a certain point. Is Ella aware of the truth?”
“I think not,” she faltered, with a hard expression on her face. “It is a disgraceful truth. Since my poor father’s death I have made certain startling discoveries that place matters in an entirely new light. I have been examining his private papers, and they have revealed to me facts which, so infamous, cause me to hide my face from you in shame. I – I am not fit to be your associate or friend of Ella,” she added, in a hoarse painful whisper. “I confess to you both, because you have been my friends. I confess everything, even the fact that I learnt only three days ago.”
“What’s that?” I inquired.
“That I am, after all, what the world calls an adventuress – the daughter of an international thief!” was her low answer, her chin sunk upon her breast in an attitude of shame. “My poor father, whom I adored, was only a thief!” and she burst into tears.
For some moments I was silent. The door opened behind us, and Sammy, who had returned, stood upon the threshold, surprised that I had visitors.
I motioned to him to enter and close the door. Then I said: —
“Mr Sampson is my friend; we can speak before him, Miss Miller. Were you entirely unaware of your father’s real profession?”
“I swear that I was. I had no idea of it until three days ago, when I discovered proof positive that he was in association with certain men who were expert thieves.”
“Then your association with the fugitive Nardini was in no way connected with your father’s dishonesty?” I asked. “You have just said that Gordon-Wright’s death has set you at liberty. Will you not now tell us the truth, so that all may be open and straightforward?”
She hesitated, and I saw that she naturally felt disinclined to condemn the man of whom she had all her life been so fond, and in whom she had so implicitly trusted. Many fathers act mysteriously in the eyes of their children. Mr Miller had ever been a mystery, and yet with filial affection she had never once suspected him of leading a double life.
“Yes,” urged Ella, “tell us all. Half an hour ago you told me that you are at last free – that the man who held me so entirely in his power also held you in his unscrupulous hands.”
Sammy said nothing. He had already condemned Lucie, and in his eyes she was but a mere adventuress.
“If I confess, Mr Leaf, I wonder if you and Ella will forgive me?” she exclaimed at last, in a hard, strained voice. “I assure you that I, like yourselves, have been merely a victim of circumstances.”
“Explain the truth,” I said, in a voice of sympathy, for I saw by the shame upon her countenance that she had been an innocent victim.
“Well,” she said, “it happened like this. We had been living at Enghien, outside Paris. The man I loved, Manuel Carrera, a young Chilian, had committed suicide because thieves had stolen a large sum of money of which he had accepted the responsibility, and I was broken-hearted and grief-stricken. We had left Paris and were in Brussels when the news reached me; therefore, when my father proposed that we should go on to Salsomaggiore, I welcomed the change. I never wished to place foot in Paris again. We had kept on the little apartment we had in Rome, where we usually spent the winter, but before going there we decided to take the cure. About a week after our arrival at the hotel at Salsomaggiore there came one of Italy’s best known statesmen, the Onorevole Giovanni Nardini, Minister of Justice, accompanied by his private secretary, a doctor named Gavazzi. My father – whom I have since discovered had obtained private information of Nardini’s shady financial transactions – at once cultivated his acquaintance, as well as that of Gavazzi, and while we were taking the cure we became quite intimate friends.
“On our return to Rome His Excellency often invited us to his fine house in the Via Vittorio Emanuele, and several times we went out to luncheon at the Villa Verde at Tivoli. Two years went by and each winter we saw a great deal of His Excellency. Last January a pretty fair-haired English girl named Alice Woodforde, niece of Gavazzi – she being daughter of Gavazzi’s sister who married a civil engineer in London named Woodforde – came out to Rome for the winter, and as Gavazzi was a bachelor we offered her the hospitality of our house. She was a delightful girl, about nine years older than myself, and we soon became inseparable.
“Before very long I discovered the true situation. Nardini had met and fallen violently in love with his secretary’s niece, while Gavazzi himself was contemplating that, by such a marriage, he himself would reap considerable benefit. Though much older than Alice, Nardini was a pleasant companion, and occupying as he did one of the highest positions in the kingdom, it was but natural that she should be flattered by his attentions. I, however, who had watched closely and heard certain facts from my father, knew well that the pleasant exterior only concealed a character that was cruel, dishonest, and utterly unscrupulous. The motive of my father’s friendship with Nardini was, I regret to admit it, no doubt a dishonest one, while he, on his part, with clever cunning intended eventually to make use of my father in certain blackmailing operations which he contemplated. There was no limit to Nardini’s ingenuity or power. Rich and poor alike knew him to be cruel and heartless. He somehow learnt the truth regarding my father, and desired to get me also into his power. There was no charge he could make against me, therefore he resorted to a fiendish conspiracy which was characteristic of the man.
“Late one afternoon last April I was crossing the Piazza di Spagna in Rome when I was stopped by two police agents who asked me to accompany them to the Questura, where, to my speechless amazement, a cruel and wicked charge was made against me. I was accused of robbing a commercial traveller of Milan of a portfolio containing eighteen thousand francs! At first I laughed in the Commissary’s face, but when, an hour later, the Italian, a man whom I had never before seen in my life, was brought and identified me, I was stupefied. The charge was infamous. It was against my honour! The man, a loudly dressed person of Hebrew type, stated that on the previous evening he was in the Café Colonna and spoke to me. He afterwards invited me to dinner at Bordoni’s, in the Via Nazionale, and after we parted he found that his portfolio had been stolen. A waiter at Bordoni’s also identified me, and an agent of police also declared that I was known to them. The whole charge was false, and I stood speechless when I heard their disgraceful accusations. I had never been in either the Colonna or in Bordoni’s in all my life. Yet there was still something more extraordinary to follow. The detectives went to our apartments, and, having searched, found the empty portfolio concealed at the bottom of a drawer in my room. I saw at once that it was the work of some secret enemy. Yet who had done it was, to me, a complete enigma.
“I at once wrote a line of appeal to His Excellency explaining that the police had made a terrible mistake. At first he regretted that he could not assist me, but after a second appeal he sent a line to the Questore, or chief of police, giving me my liberty until my trial, which is to take place at the assizes next November. I at once went to Nardini and asked him to speak the truth – namely, that on the evening in question I was at the Villa Verde at Tivoli, where I had gone on a message to him from my father and had found him there alone. But he refused to make this statement, ostensibly because he did not wish the fact known that he had received a lady visitor alone, but in reality because he himself had trumped up the whole of the infamous charge against me.
“To my chagrin, also, I found that Lieutenant Shacklock – as Gordon-Wright was known in Rome – knew of the charge. He was an intimate friend of my father’s, but a man utterly without principle. I had to beg him not to tell my father. For Nardini, who had so many creatures in his pay, such an allegation was so very easy. As I afterwards established, the portfolio was placed in my drawer by a man who entered on pretence of examining the electric light. Nardini’s object was to hold me in his power, to compel me to do his bidding, and assist in certain schemes he was contemplating before his fall. Surely it was the gravest charge that could have been made against a woman. It touched my honour, and that is the reason why when he fled I followed post-haste here to beg of him to say the word which must put an end to the proceedings pending against me. But, although I was successful in tracing him here, alas! I was too late. He died without clearing my honour, and on the third of November the charge against me will be heard by the Tribunal. How, now, can I hope to escape an unjust condemnation?”
“Why didn’t you make this explanation before?” I asked. “I might have assisted you to clear yourself.”
“How could I while Gordon-Wright lived? He was present in our apartment when the police found the portfolio, and even though Nardini might have caused the accusation to have been withdrawn he would have still been a witness against me.”
“But you knew who and what he was?”
“Not at that time. I only knew that he was a great friend of my father’s and lived at the Grand Hotel. But in looking through my father’s private letters I have learned the ghastly truth – that he and Himes who were such constant visitors to our flat, both in Rome, Leghorn, or in fact anywhere where we took up our abode, were expert thieves working under my father’s directions. True, I held both of them in dislike, but I never dreamed that living apart, Shacklock at the Grand and Himes at the Quirinale, they were in such active accord.”
“Then this charge against you will be made in Rome in November?” Sammy said, addressing her for the first time.
“Yes,” she sighed despairingly. “I shall be condemned in my absence, for how can I now hope to prove that I am innocent – that I was not even in Rome on that evening?”
“Nardini was a blackguard!” Sammy cried. “If I had known that I’d have rung the truth out of him before he died – by Jove, I would! A man who plots against a woman’s honour like that is the worst cad conceivable.”
“Ah, yes!” cried the unhappy girl. “It is that – it is my honour that is at stake. The man alleges that he found me alone in a common café – and – and – ”
She burst into tears.
I had listened to Lucie’s extraordinary statement like a man in a dream.
Ella tried to comfort her, but with very little avail. She had utterly broken down.
“I am surely the most unhappy of girls!” she sobbed. “They have killed my poor father, and now they will take from me my honour as a woman!” Then, after a pause, she added: —
“You remember what I told you regarding the woman Hardwick? Nardini knew of that scandal long ago in Pisa, when you accidentally met Ina’s married sister travelling, and were forced into the Divorce Court by her husband to give evidence against her. As Minister of Justice, he knew well all the secrets of hushed-up scandals, and often turned them to his own profit.”
“Miss Miller,” Sammy exclaimed, in a soft tone now full of sympathy for the poor suffering girl, “you mentioned just now the unfortunate death of my friend Manuel Carrera, in Paris. You recollect that I – ”
“Manuel Carrera!” cried Ella, suddenly releasing Lucie and facing Sammy. “Was he your friend? Then let me also tell you the truth! Hear my confession, Godfrey, and then you shall judge me!”
Chapter Thirty Nine
Unites Two Hearts
The revelations amazed me. I held my breath and faced her. There was a terrible eloquence in the silence of that room.
“Listen,” exclaimed my well-beloved, her pale, desperate, but beautiful countenance turned full towards me. “Listen, and I’ll tell you everything, just as it occurred.
“About three years ago, very soon after I parted from you on that memorable night in Bayswater, my father and I were staying at the Hotel Continental in Paris, and received a call from Mr Miller and Lucie. I was of course delighted to see my old schoolfellow again, but only once was your name mentioned – with regret – for I was already engaged to marry Mr Blumenthal. Mr Miller asked us down to his house at Enghien, and we went several times, generally finding there a young Chilian, Manuel Carrera, for a great affection had sprung up between Lucie and him. The young fellow chanced to be staying at the same hotel as ourselves in Paris, and sometimes we returned by the same train together. At Mr Miller’s we also met Himes, in whom I must say I was much mistaken. I believed him to be an American gentleman, but I now know that he was what is known as a ‘sharp.’ One night my father and I dined at the Villa du Lac, Carrera being also invited. He left rather early, for some reason or other, and when we went an hour or so later Lucie asked me to deliver to him a secret message which she had forgotten – a request that he would meet her at the Gare du Nord at eleven o’clock next morning, as she was going shopping and would be alone.
“On arrival at the hotel just after midnight, I saw my father into his room, and then slipped along to the farther end of the corridor and tapped at the young man’s door. There was no reply. Again I tapped, but without response. Then, intending to leave a note for him, I turned the handle and entered. Judge my horror when I saw him standing before the mirror in a frenzy of despair with a revolver in his hand. I dashed in, for I saw his intention was to commit suicide. I grasped his wrist and tried to wrench the weapon from his grasp. For several moments we struggled desperately, but, alas! he was the stronger, and with an imprecation he placed the barrel of the weapon in his mouth and fired. Ah! it was awful!
“I twisted the revolver from his hand, but, alas! too late. He fell to the floor in a helpless heap, and I stood dazed and horrified at the awful tragedy. A moment later I heard a movement behind me, and started to see a stranger standing there – an Englishman. He had closed the door behind him, and we were alone with the dead man. ‘I charge you with the murder of my friend,’ he said gravely. ‘I saw you fire. You did this out of jealousy. You met at Nice eighteen months ago. Manuel is the lover of the girl who lives at Enghien, and is your friend! I saw you together yesterday in the Rue Rivoli!’
“I fell back and stared at him utterly speechless. Then I protested that he had committed suicide, but he pointed out that I still held the revolver. ‘No,’ he added, ‘I saw you fire! I am witness that you murdered poor Manuel, who met you on the Riviera and fell violently in love with you.’ I asked the stranger if he really meant what he alleged, but he only smiled mysteriously and said: – ‘As no one seems to have been awakened, perhaps it will save you much trouble if you place the revolver near the body and allow the authorities to believe in your theory of suicide. I am English, like yourself, and in our country no gentleman betrays a woman.’ ‘Then you withdraw this allegation?’ I asked. But he urged me to fly quickly, while there was time, and taking the weapon he placed it on the floor close to the dead man’s right hand. Because I allowed him to do this, I committed myself, and was lost. But at that moment I was so upset that I knew not what I did. I slipped out of the door and down the corridor, and from that instant I never saw the mysterious stranger again until – until about four months ago.”
“And who was he?” I asked eagerly. “What was his name?”
“He proved to be Gordon-Wright alias Lieutenant Shacklock, and many other names. He called upon me in Ireland and claimed acquaintance. Then, judge my astonishment when, a week later, he told me that I must marry him or he would denounce me to Lucie as the murderess of her lover!”
“The scoundrel!” I cried. “Then he actually held both of you enthralled?”
“Yes, Godfrey,” she exclaimed, in that soft sweet voice that always charmed me so. “It was true that I had previously met Manuel Carrera in Nice, but he certainly was never my lover, as he alleged. But now I have told you the truth you can easily see why I dare not speak while he lived, for he would have brought against me a cruel charge of jealous murder which he might easily have substantiated.”
Our eyes met, and her gaze wavered.
“Why – how could he?” inquired Sammy.
“Because early next morning I found out the number of his room and most foolishly wrote to him urging him to keep the secret that I had been in the dead man’s room. This letter, combined with his testimony, would have been, no doubt, sufficient to condemn me. Again, the night you met me at Studland he followed me out and found me almost the moment after we parted. He taunted me with that letter, and we struggled for its possession.”
“I recollect!” Sammy exclaimed. “It was I who was one of the first to enter poor Carrera’s room, and I remember the revolver lay in a position that much puzzled the police. They questioned the servants if it had been moved. That fellow Shacklock, who was living in the hotel, evidently stole the contents of the poor fellow’s despatch-box and handed them to Himes, who came that evening to call upon him. It is an old trick of hotel thieves: the man who commits the theft remains in the hotel and expresses the greatest indignation and sympathy with the victim, while his accomplice gets safely away across the frontier with the booty.”
“And this is the actual truth!” I cried, staring at her amazed.
“The truth, Godfrey – the whole truth!” declared Ella, in a faltering tone, her cheeks flushed with shame. “You must have mistrusted me, but though bound to that blackguard by a secret my love for you has, I swear, ever been unwavering. Surely you must have seen what I have suffered,” she cried. “That man who has now met with such an untimely end wished to marry me for my position, and because – ”
“Because you are beautiful, my sweetheart!” I said, holding her in my arms and kissing her fondly. “I know. I see it all now.”
“And – and you really forgive me, Godfrey?” she asked seriously.
“For what?”
“For refusing to tell you this.”
“You were silent, darling, because you were that man’s victim. You feared to speak. But his own enemy has fortunately released you. The thieves have quarrelled among themselves – and fatally. We can now afford to watch in silence.”
Our hands clasped, our lips met, and our hearts beat in unison – hearts that were true to each other with a love that was real love.
“Lucie,” I said at last, turning to the despairing girl, who now knew, for the first time, her father’s shameful secret, “there is one point which is still a mystery. Have you any explanation to offer? At the Villa Verde, after Nardini’s flight, a young lady, said to be a friend of yours, was found dead in his study. Who was she?”
“It was Alice Woodforde,” she replied promptly. “Nardini had fallen deeply in love with her, and knowing that revelations and downfall were imminent, and that he would be compelled to fly, he gave her in secret this address in London. He begged her to return to England where they would marry, and she, still in ignorance of his true character, gave her promise. She showed me the address he had written down, asking me if I knew in what part of London it was, and thinking it strange I made a mental note of it. I saw that His Excellency was playing a double game, and suspected that he contemplated flight. In addition to this, one evening, when her uncle the doctor was dining with my father and myself she related, with her natural innocence, how one afternoon, when a guest at the Villa Verde, she had entered the study unexpectedly and had discovered His Excellency with a secret cupboard in the wainscot opened, into which he was in the act of placing a packet of bank-notes.
“Now, Gavazzi, who had narrowly watched the situation, daily expected His Excellency to fly from Italy. He knew that his enemies had gained the ascendency, and that revelations to King Humbert were only a matter of hours. Therefore the moment his master had left Rome he went out to Tivoli and discharged all the servants at the villa, paying them all off handsomely. On the following day, as I understand from a letter I have found among my father’s papers, he went out there on the pretext of a necessity of obtaining certain important documents, taking Alice with him. He entered the villa with his key, and when in the study suddenly demanded that she should reveal the spot where the notes had been concealed. Being loyal to Nardini, whom she had promised to marry, she refused. They were alone in the great house, and she, in defiance of him, declared that she would tell the man who was to be her husband. A violent scene then ensued. He threatened her and she grew furious, when of a sudden she fell back in a dead faint. He laughed, and awaited her recovery, still hoping to obtain from her the secret of the Minister’s hoard. He waited until, in alarm, he saw a sudden change in her. She grew white and rigid. She suffered from a weak heart from her birth, and died of syncope. Poor Alice! the excitement had proved fatal!”
“But I can’t understand this fellow Himes. Why is he so full of a fierce revenge?” asked Sammy, whose manner towards Lucie was now entirely changed. He saw that she had been the victim of a scoundrel, just as my dear love had been.
“Well, I think I can also explain that,” she said. “My father, in order that nothing compromising might be found if the police ever searched our apartments abroad, kept all his private papers in an old bureau at Studland. For several days I have been going through them, and they throw light upon many things which have hitherto been to me mysteries. The reason of his rapid journeys hither and thither, the motives of his friendships and the causes of his hatreds are explained.
“Last winter, while we were in Rome, Lieutenant Shacklock, as he called himself, lived in style at the Grand, while Himes had a room at the Quirinale. To every one they appeared as strangers to each other, and only met at our house. They both had committed a number of clever robberies of jewels and money, when Shacklock managed to ingratiate himself with a wealthy American widow, a Mrs Clay Hamilton, and after giving several little dinner-parties and escorting her here and there he succeeded, by a clever piece of trickery, in passing over her jewel-case full of valuable gems to Himes. The theft was quickly discovered, but no suspicion ever rested upon him. Indeed he actually went himself to the Questura with Mrs Clay Hamilton and reported the theft to the police! The jewel-case was, however, already at our house when, on the following night, the two men met.
“I was out at the theatre with Dr Gavazzi and Alice, but I can only suppose there must have been a violent quarrel over the distribution of the booty. At any rate, Himes declared that he would have nothing further to do with either my father or Shacklock, and next day left Rome for Paris. My father and Shacklock suspected that, out of spite, he meant to expose them to Nardini or to the Rome police, therefore, knowing with what object he had gone to Paris, Shacklock followed him and gave certain secret information at the Prefecture. The result of this was that Himes was arrested red-handed while committing an audacious robbery at Asnières, and sent to prison. He, of course, suspected that the friends with whom he had quarrelled had given information, yet he could not absolutely prove it. His first impulse was to retaliate by revealing all he knew regarding his late associates, but this was not enough for a man of his criminal instincts.
